Carry on my wayward son.
...the voice seems to say, IN MY HEAD. Day 281 in the gloomy but inspiring London.
And I am inspired to do what?
To contain, to analyze, to empathize. These are the goals of the aforementioned aspiration. They are an ambition professionale wrapped in one-stone-two-birds viewpoint regarding "normal" life as well.
But normal life seems to shrink and dilute every other week, with the occasional exceptions of going back home, losing a part of myself (quite literally sometimes) and then back to adulthood, as it were.
The only thing I can hope for is the personal acknowledgment of all these 281 days as a trial-by-fire for financial independence, for building up and internalizing evaluative processes that allow for confidence building (yet so far from the self-made-man, so fucking far....): for meticulous searching and obsessive finding of evidence for a stable and persistent self that evaded me for years. An acid test for aspirations, dreams and symbolizations that traveled freely between Athens and Sanctuary, London and Middle-Earth, Larissa and the World of Darkness, Clapham and the Normandy.
Self-reflection has become an everyday irritation, like an itch that does not even bleed: if it did, it would be easier to stop.
And then, the idea pops back in my head: this is psionic training, this is wizardry manifested. The transymbolization between reality and myth kicks in, spills a prep talk lasting several milliseconds, and vanishes again in the first sight of real trouble. Bang! Your esteem is dead, go back and repair.
But alas! One cannot simply indulge in self-pitty, quit for a while and then push the bed sheets away, and this is probably one of the good aspects of proper adulthood: there is no time to whine!
Apart from tonight, I guess.
...the voice seems to say, IN MY HEAD. Day 281 in the gloomy but inspiring London.
And I am inspired to do what?
To contain, to analyze, to empathize. These are the goals of the aforementioned aspiration. They are an ambition professionale wrapped in one-stone-two-birds viewpoint regarding "normal" life as well.
But normal life seems to shrink and dilute every other week, with the occasional exceptions of going back home, losing a part of myself (quite literally sometimes) and then back to adulthood, as it were.
The only thing I can hope for is the personal acknowledgment of all these 281 days as a trial-by-fire for financial independence, for building up and internalizing evaluative processes that allow for confidence building (yet so far from the self-made-man, so fucking far....): for meticulous searching and obsessive finding of evidence for a stable and persistent self that evaded me for years. An acid test for aspirations, dreams and symbolizations that traveled freely between Athens and Sanctuary, London and Middle-Earth, Larissa and the World of Darkness, Clapham and the Normandy.
Self-reflection has become an everyday irritation, like an itch that does not even bleed: if it did, it would be easier to stop.
And then, the idea pops back in my head: this is psionic training, this is wizardry manifested. The transymbolization between reality and myth kicks in, spills a prep talk lasting several milliseconds, and vanishes again in the first sight of real trouble. Bang! Your esteem is dead, go back and repair.
But alas! One cannot simply indulge in self-pitty, quit for a while and then push the bed sheets away, and this is probably one of the good aspects of proper adulthood: there is no time to whine!
Apart from tonight, I guess.
No comments:
Post a Comment